Oscar de la Renta / Fall 2012 RTW

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So this is how it goes. You start by pinning the faux bijoux—diamonds and pearls, jet and crystals—in your hair, decorating a pretty headband. Then you dangle them from your earlobes. Then you might quickly throw a stack around your neck. Or you could pin them onto yourself somewhere around the décolleté. Or better still—both! Your waist will dazzle because a buckle denuded of sparkle is, please, just dull, dull, dull. You’ll almost forget your wrists for a second, and add the jewels there to assuage the little panic that set in at seeing them unadorned. And since you’ve gone this far, what the hell, your feet are looking a little lackluster now, better affix a bauble or two to your booties. Then, if you’re Oscar de la Renta, you’ll also blow the jewels up big, and print, embroider, and splash them over sheath dresses, tiny jackets, skinny pants, and oversize parkas and nip-waist coats, both of which come with fox collars. But even for Oscar, all that hyper-embellishment isn’t enough, so the final touch—big jewel-encrusted buttons.

Sensory overload has been the leitmotif of the last few days, from all sorts of quarters, and in all sorts of ways, but basically, there is an agreement as to the one basic approach; everything should be more, more, more. The question is: Why? Is it the way we’re all becoming numb to fashion’s more extremist impulses (and dressers)? That the embracing of baroque floral prints worn head to toe has sparked a desire to push the look somewhere even more ornate? Or is it—and this is where Oscar de la Renta comes in—a feeling that we live in serious and tough enough times without having to flagellate our wardrobes in the bargain? Fashion should be fun.

You don’t send out in quick succession, as Oscar did at his fall show, the likes of candy-hued teeny mink jackets, snow-bunny furry ankle boots, and enough eighties-era short pleated strapless silk-taffeta party dresses to have kept Sammy Jo Carrington on dates with oil heirs without a playful wink. Of course, Oscar gets away with all this because he is the absolute master at knowing when to push it, fun-wise, and when to rein it in. Toward the end of his show, a trio of sublime evening dresses appeared, long and columnar, in crushed velvet or silk faille, and in a shade of green he called Nile. They were seriously gorgeous, and sparkled all the more because of their elegant restraint.